


Warm Buns

by starwarned



Series: Fictober 2020 [14]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Fictober, Fictober 2020, Flufftober, Flufftober 2020, M/M, simon works in a bakery bc of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned
Summary: Fictober Day 14Prompt: cinnamon buns!Simon makes his cinnamon buns and a lovely stranger flirts with him.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Fictober 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951321
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	Warm Buns

**Author's Note:**

> hi I wrote this in such a short amount of time. it is not nearly as good as it could be and I apologize 
> 
> prompt from [this list](https://subpar-selkie.tumblr.com/post/628080856195547136/flufftober-prompts) on tumblr!

There’s nothing more satisfying than getting your hands on a ball of dough after it’s risen. Punching it down, kneading it against the palms of your hands, rolling it out. It’s my source of therapy. (Penny says I should likely be in actual therapy, but I can’t afford that right now, so working at a bakery is the second-best option). 

My shift starts earlier than anyone else - I typically open the shop and make the first batch of morning pastries. And my favorite part of those two hours that I’m alone for is when I get to make the cinnamon buns. 

Rolling the dough out, spreading the thick layer of butter, sprinkling the cinnamon and sugar more liberally than I should, rolling the buns together, and cutting them into thick slabs - it’s therapeutic. Having a set pattern. 

Today’s no different. I came in, started the various pastries, and saved the cinnamon buns for last simply for the joy of finishing up with that. 

Usually, nobody comes in right as we open. It’s quite early. 

Today, a tall man with the loveliest dark hair I’ve ever seen strides in the door the moment that I’ve flipped on the open sign. He steps right up to me at the counter and I’m taken back enough that I take a quick step back. 

“Hello,” I say, putting on my customer service voice. 

He nods his head. (He’s really pretty. He’s got soft grey eyes and really defined features that I want to trace with my fingertips). “Are these fresh?” he asks, pointing out the cinnamon buns inside the display. 

I try not to grin with pride, but I do anyway. “Yes,” I say. “Made them twenty minutes ago.” 

He really looks at me now, my cheeks flushing with his full attention. Before, he seemed to just step into the shop out of pure necessity - needing to buy his pastries and get out. Now, I can practically  _ feel  _ him turn on the charm. 

“They’re beautiful,” he says. 

“Thank you,” I say softly, the smile still incredibly prevalent on my face. 

He leans an elbow against the glass of the display and smirks at me. “Warm?” he asks. 

I frown a bit. “Yeah,” I confirm. 

He hums, leaning up and standing up straight. “I’m quite partial to warm buns.” 

I feel the tops of my ears flush pink. I don’t know why it makes me embarrassed that he said that. “Right,” I say. “How many would you like?” I ask, trying to move away from how nervous this beautiful stranger is making me. 

“Just yours should be fine.” 

Christ, he is flirting with everything he has. 

“Well, they’re all mine,” I say. “I’m the one who made them.” 

He smirks. “Just three, then.” 

I nod and grab him three buns, setting them in a takeaway container, and step over to the register to ring him up. He pays and his hand brushes against mine when I take his card. I try not to shiver. 

“Please come back soon,” I say. 

He doesn’t step away. “Is it just you here right now?” he asks. 

“Yes,” I say. 

I don’t know where this is going. 

He steps around the counter. A bold move that I’d probably say something about with anyone else, but with this man who I’ve never met before is somehow different. I meet him and he tugs him into his arms. He wraps his arms around my waist and I push my hands up and around his neck. I’m incredibly aware of the fact that I’m probably getting flour on his front from my apron but the moment that he kisses me, all else pushes from my mind. 

I don’t know why I’m letting this stranger kiss me. At work. But fuck am I liking it. He’s  _ very  _ good at this and even if he never comes back, I’ll probably regard this as one of the best kisses of my life. 

We have to stop when I hear the back door open and close. He steps back from the counter and he picks up the box of cinnamon buns. 

“Thank you,” he says, smirking. His eyes are blown out and I want to lunge across the counter and kiss him again. 

There’s not nearly enough time for me to beg this stranger for his phone number before my coworker has appeared beside me. 

I hold onto hope that he’ll come back. 

(He does). 


End file.
